For Auld Lang Syne
by justicemuffins
Summary: Three New Year's Eves. Three attempted kisses.


Happy New Year! Have some dumb Capsicoul fic.

* * *

**2013**

This isn't Steve's first New Year's Eve since he was revived from the ice, but it is the first New Year's Eve he's spent with other people. It's approximately eight months since the Avengers had come together and he finds himself on the lofty rooftop of Avengers Tower. Tony had thrown quite a holiday party two weeks back, hosting socialites and CEOs and philanthropists enough to crowd an entire floor. Admittedly, he'd felt a little uncomfortable stuffed into a tux and forced to make conversation with people he really didn't want to talk to (although not all of Tony's guests had been that bad, just a special few that had made Steve long for the privacy of the rooftop).

As the final minutes of 2012 tick by, Steve reflects on the year past. He's begun to find a place in this new world, leading a group of people he's grown proud to call his friends, his comrades. It had taken convincing to get them all to agree to live in the Tower, but it's a decision he doesn't think any of them regret. Not usually, anyway. Inevitably there will disagreements among a group of people occupying the same living space, which is why it's a damn good thing they've got the finest "nanny" that S.H.I.E.L.D. has to offer.

He turns his head to glance at Phil Coulson, who sits by his side, engaged in conversation with Pepper. They're all bundled up as they crowd together in the cold winter air, eagerly awaiting the ball to drop.

It's been an interesting eight months in regards to himself and Phil. Of course, discovering that the agent was alive had been more than a pleasant surprise. He'd sat vigilantly by the man's bedside and felt an overwhelming sense of relief when he was at last rewarded with a pair of blue-grey eyes gazing blearily up at him. Perhaps he'd been a little smothering during Phil's recovery, but if he had been, he hadn't heard any complaints from Phil. They'd gotten to know each other gradually—once Phil's fanboy jitters had worn off, Steve could see the calm, competent agent that everyone knew him as; and once some of the shine had worn off Steve, Phil had been able to see multifaceted individual that trading cards and comic books could never properly convey.

They've become good friends. Great friends, really. They've become such great friends that it had taken Steve by surprise when he found himself wanting something more. Not knowing what to do, he'd gone to the two people he'd been certain wouldn't judge him or flat out laugh in his face: Pepper and Bruce. They'd been quick to assure him that he wouldn't ruin his and Phil's friendship by asking him out to dinner and even encouraged him to do so.

For the past month, he's been trying to figure out how to do just that. He'd thought he would be able to at Christmas, but with everyone gathered round so close together, he'd not been able to get a moment alone with the agent.

But tonight is different. He's made up his mind. When the ball drops, everyone's going to be paying more attention to that than each other and that's when he's going to do it. At the stroke of midnight, he's going to kiss Phil Coulson and there's not a damn thing in the universe that's going to be able to stop him.

"Sixty seconds, kids!" Tony announces, his arm curled around Pepper's waist. "On your toes, on your toes."

Steve looks out across the city. Being that Avengers Tower is one of the largest buildings in the city, they can easily see the ball as it makes its slow decent. He takes a deep breath, determined to go through with his plan. With a mere five seconds left, amidst the other Avengers counting down the final seconds, he turns his attention to the agent at his side.

"Phil."

Just as Phil's turning his head, he makes his move.

It's not the move he'd wanted to make.

Apparently he'd moved with just enough momentum and at just the right angle to head butt Phil in the nose. He hears a telltale crack before there's blood everywhere. No, this is definitely not what he'd had planned. He fumbles for a napkin, horrified.

"Jesus Christ, Phil, I'm so sorry," he says quickly, helping the agent try to stem the blood gushing from his nose.

"It's fine," Phil replies, his words muffled behind napkins and a steady stream of blood.

Tony only laughs at him a little as they watch Bruce patch Phil up. His nose is broken and it's about all he can do not to run straight back to his floor as their resident physician straightens the break and packs in some gauze for the residual bleeding. Eventually, Phil's been taken care of and they've all moved inside. If there's anyone who can manage not to look utterly ridiculous with their nostrils packed with gauze, blood all down the front of their shirt and a glass of champagne in hand, it's Phil Coulson.

Steve settles in slowly beside him, offering two pain pills, which Phil accepts gratefully.

"I am so, so sorry," Steve says for what he's sure is the hundredth time.

"I told you, it's fine," Phil repeats. "It was an accident."

"God, I can't believe I did that to you. On New Year's Eve," Steve sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Is there anything I can do?"

Phil looks contemplative for a moment. "There is one thing you could do."

"Name it," Steve says in a heartbeat.

"Have dinner with me," Phil says.

Steve stares for a moment. All that planning, all that fretting, not to mention his spectacular flub just now… and Phil's beat him to the punch. He can't help but laugh, shaking his head.

"Dinner it is," he agrees.

"I figure dinner is a good opportunity for you to try that again," Phil says with a slight smile.

"I'd appreciate that very much," Steve says. "But for now…"

He leans in and presses a quick kiss to the agent's cheek.

"Happy New Year, Phil."

**2014**

"I can go. Really."

Phil is not convinced. Not in the slightest.

Four days prior they'd been on a mission. Alien invasion, the usual. Except it hadn't been as usual as it usually was. Of all of them, Steve had been the only one to be wounded by the strange sword the leader had wielded. The injury had healed over the course of the day, but slightly slower than usual. They'd thought nothing more of it until, out of the blue, Steve had collapsed in the Tower's elevator. Apparently the sword had been coated with a strange substance which likely would have killed any of them, but thanks to the serum in his veins, had just made Steve incredibly ill.

Thankfully, the scientists of S.H.I.E.L.D. worked quickly. Two days later they had stabilized the super soldier and started him on a steady regiment of the antidote in controlled doses. Steve would recover, but he'd have symptoms like a severe case of the flu for one to two weeks while he did so.

Phil folds his arms over his chest, staring Steve down. The Captain does his best to stand tall, but his misery is easily detectable. He's a sickly, pasty pale, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His typically proud stature is bent under the weight of fatigue and he sways despite his best efforts.

"No, Steve, back to bed," Phil says.

"I'm fine," Steve insists. "We can't miss it, they're expecting us."

Thankfully Phil is paying close attention because no sooner had the words left Steve's mouth than his knees very near buckled. Phil moves quickly, supporting the taller man's weight before he can fall to the floor. Steve's fever is outrageous, leaving his skin feeling superhearted so that the warmth radiates even through his clothes. His breaths are quick and shallow, stifling anything he'd been going to say.

"Come on. Let's get you back to bed," Phil says gently as he steers the Captain towards his room.

It's just as he's tucked Steve in that he hears the chime of the door.

_"Agent Romanoff is requesting your presence at the door, Agent Coulson. What shall I tell her?"_

JARVIS's disembodies voice drifts to him from somewhere in the ceiling. He nods.

"Tell her I'll be right there, thank you, JARVIS," Phil replies.

_"Very well, sir."_

He runs his hand through Steve's hair, quietly promising he'll be right back before walking to the door. When he opens it, Natasha is waiting there for him. She holds up a small plastic bottle, rattling it so the pills within shake like a maraca and then handing it over to him.

"Compliments of Dr. Banner," she says. She nods at the bottle. "Bruce said to give him two. They'll help him sleep a little easier."

Phil studies the bottle, his eyes scanning the directions on the bottle. "Tell him thank you for me."

"Not coming up, I take it?" Natasha asks.

"Not with him like this, no," Phil answers.

She nods. "We'll send a plate of something up for you in a bit. Clint's making some soup, if Steve thinks he can keep it down he should try to eat some of it. Should I save you a glass of champagne?"

Phil smiles appreciatively. "Thank you, but I think Steve and I have a couple cups of tea calling our names."

"Suit yourself, Coulson," Natasha says with a shrug. She hesitates before she turns to leave, and presses a quick kiss to his cheek. "Happy New Year, Phil."

"Happy New Year, Natasha," he replies fondly.

"Pass the message on to Cap for me," Natasha says.

"I'll make sure he gets it," Phil says. "Tell the others we're sorry we couldn't make it."

"Will do," she replies, offering him a brief smile before she disappears.

Phil closes the door behind her, studying the pill bottle once again as he makes his way to the kitchen. He brews two cups of tea, making sure to add a healthy dose of honey to Steve's mug. Carrying the two steaming mugs, he makes his way back to their shared bedroom. Steve is curled up in bed right where he'd left him, the television playing softly in the background. He sets the two mugs on the nightstand before sitting up in the bed beside Steve. With a grin, he dips down and kisses the other man's cheek.

"That's from Natasha," he says.

He hears a quick laugh chased by a brutal cough.

"You should go," Steve tells him, his voice breathy. "The others will be missing you."

Phil shakes his head, settling in with his mug of tea. "I'm right where I want to be."

Steve sighs at that, throwing an arm around Phil and pressing his face to the junction between the agent's neck and shoulder. Phil wraps an arm around the ailing man's shoulders, holding him close. The soldier makes soft, contented noises as Phil runs a hand through his hair repeatedly.

"Sorry about this," Steve murmurs.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," Phil assures him. "We just want to see you get better."

"Lousy way to spend New Year's Eve, though," Steve says, sniffling miserably.

"Hardly," Phil answers. "I told you I'm right where I want to be and I meant it. Bruce sent up some pills to help you sleep."

"I don't want to take them just yet," Steve mumbles, nuzzling Phil's neck. "Not until we see the ball drop."

"Of course," Phil says with a chuckle.

Over the next hour, he watches Steve grow gradually closer to sleep. Their conversation peters out as Steve's responses eventually dissolve to semi-lucid hums and Phil settles for rubbing the other man's shoulder comfortingly. Eventually, he's sitting up against the pillows with Steve's soft breaths tickling his neck. As the people on the television begin to count down, he contemplates waking Steve; the man will be so upset if he misses it.

In the end though, Phil doesn't have the heart to wake him, not when he's in such desperate need of rest. Instead, as the people in Times Square hugs and kiss and cheer in a cloud of confetti, he kisses the top of Steve's head softly.

"Happy New Year, Steve."

**2015**

Disappointed does not even begin to describe Phil's feelings as he watches the countdown on television. It's a hazard of the job, missing holidays and important events, but for some reason he and Steve just can't seem to get New Year's Eve down. Phil himself had been gone over Christmas and Steve's mission had overlapped, meaning he left just before Phil returned and was going to be gone until tomorrow.

"I'm sorry, Phil," Pepper says, rubbing his arm consolingly.

Phil offers her a lopsided smile. "It's not ideal, but as long as he makes it back safe and in one piece, I can't complain."

Pepper's eyes wander to Tony, who is laughing hysterically at whatever Thor is inscribing in Sharpie on his cast.

"I know what you mean," she says with a sigh.

"We're lucky," Phil says.

"We are indeed," Pepper agrees.

The group gathers on the roof once again, watching the proceedings from afar. They hear the countdown begin from the radio and Phil focuses on the people gathered around him. They're an odd sort of family, but a family none-the-less. He's so focused on the others that he doesn't hear the sound of the door opening, or the sound of heavy footfalls. He barely hears the cheers of "Happy New Year!" as strong arms envelop him and he's kissed breathless.

Steve eventually draws back, plying him with one more soft kiss before looking him in the eye. "Happy New Year, Phil."

"I thought you weren't supposed to be back until tomorrow," Phil says, unable to stop the overjoyed smile on his face.

"I've been trying to kiss you at midnight on New Year's Eve for three years now," Steve tells him. "And I'll be damned if I'm oh-for-three."

Phil chuckles at that, reaching up to frame the soldier's face with his hands. The taller man is still clad in his Captain America uniform, bruised and bloody and dirty, but all Phil's. He's a lucky man. Beyond lucky, and he knows it. How he and Steve wound up together still blows his mind. With a soft smile, he returns the kiss in full.

"Mission accomplished, Captain."


End file.
